


Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Rion

by insideofadog



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Epistolary, Gardens & Gardening, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:57:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideofadog/pseuds/insideofadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr user sunlitdawnn asked me:What sort of reputation did Evelyn have during her early years within the circle? Does she have a favorite place within Skyhold?</p><p>So I wrote a short response. And then it wasn't as short, but it loosened me up on a blocked day, so that's great! And it doesn't 100% answer sunlitdawnn's question, but...there sure is a lot of it!</p><p>If you're waiting on an update to my main story, The Sharp Edge of a Blade, I should have something up in the next couple of days once I've polished things up satisfactorily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Rion

 

Gabrielle finally worked up the courage today to ask me about the Inquisitor. What she was like before, when she was Enchanter Trevelyan; if I knew her personally, that sort of thing.

There are seven of us here from Ostwick at Skyhold, not including the apprentices, and everyone gets around to asking us about her eventually. We’ve all formulated our own vague replies. She was younger than me, we say. In a different fraternity. Our research was very specialized, and our paths rarely crossed.

“She was older than me,” I tell Gabrielle, and shrug.

“Oh,” she replies, disappointed.

I wonder what she would say if I told her the truth: we all _hated_ Enchanter Trevelyan.

As apprentices, we hated her because we knew she was responsible for the Harrowings. Not the ritual itself, but the education we received beforehand. Rigorous training in wards, meditations, and demonology. Reams of paper wasted on pointless journals. Interminable meetings with pedantic mentors. Some of us struggled, but almost all of us passed.

In our minds, the whole thing—the training, the ritual, and the failures—somehow became her fault. It wasn’t fair, but we were children. I suppose the largest injustice of all—the reality of being a mage—isn’t anyone’s fault other than the Maker’s, so maybe it was important to us to be able to blame someone, even if it was misplaced. I suppose we weren’t old enough to be angry at the Maker Himself yet.

When I finally got a chance to talk to the mages from Redcliffe, I was shocked to hear how many apprentices were lost at other Harrowings. They barely got any training at all in some Circles.

By the time I passed my own test, I was in my late teens and very angry about the injustice I saw all around me. The system was corrupt, rotten to its core. I didn’t know enough to propose a solution, but I did know enough to be full of rage with our Templar jailors. And everyone knew that Enchanter Trevelyan collaborated with the Templar hunters to bring back those of us who ran, so we hated her for that, too.

I ran with a group of instigators then, all angry youths. We met in secret, complained amongst ourselves, and exchanged what illicit knowledge we could glean from discarded tomes and the occasional sympathetic Enchanter. We accomplished nothing, but at least we weren’t alone.

We’re all dead now, that little group. All but me. It doesn’t seem fair.

We would do small things to annoy Trevelyan: centipedes in her spellbook, upending her chest of meager possessions, that sort of thing. All while she was out on missions, so she never caught us.

She never reported us to the Templars—at least, they never disciplined us—and we grew more confident.

Sill, we wouldn’t have admitted it, but we were all deathly afraid of the woman. We’d heard that the Templars had tortured her when she was younger, or that her own Harrowing had been botched. Maybe both. Either way, she’d come out of the whole thing half-addled and strange. Who knew what she was capable of, we’d whisper to one another.

Who knew, indeed.

Finally, one day, emboldened by our success, I struck upon a most excellent plan.

Someone spotted her tending some ugly-looking plants in the garden for a few weeks, and the day after she left the Circle with the hunters, I snuck out right before curfew. I dug the plants up and mounded them into a small pile.

“Doing some weeding, Ser,” I told the lazy Templar leaning against the wall. He shrugged. I lit the plants on fire and they smoldered a bit, enough to ensure they were completely unusable.

The next day, I was chortling over my success at the morning meal with my companions, when they all fell silent. I turned to see Enchanter Trevelyan standing behind me. She was back already; apparently her mission had been more successful than I’d anticipated.

“Rion, is it?” she said.

“Err…yes, Enchanter,” I stuttered. I looked to my friends for help, but none was forthcoming.

“I understand you’ve developed an interest in botany. Why don’t we take a walk to the garden together?” It was not a request.

There was nothing to do but follow her to the garden. She led me right to the pile of singed leaves, and poked it with her toe.

“King’s Blossom, Rion. Related to the more common mints. Known for the near-miraculous soothing property of its leaves. Documented efficacy in tinctures, poultices, and tea. It mostly grows in Ferelden, but I obtained some seeds on my travels and was hoping to cultivate it in the Free Marches. Not known for a tendency to spontaneously combust.”

I looked away from the pile of ashes, and scuffed my foot on a clump of grass.

 “One of the apprentices has a skin condition that our healers have never seen, Rion. Results in itching, allergic reaction, and extreme sensitivity to the sun. Very painful. Several medicines have been attempted, but none were effective. I was hoping to use this plant for the next round of treatment, but,” she shrugged, “it seems I will no longer be able to do that.”

“Oh,” I said. I felt myself turn red, suffused with shame.

“Rion,” she murmured, and I looked up. “You can beat your wings bloody against the bars of this cage, but do not forget that you are not the only one in here. And some people have it even worse than you.”

I sneered at her then, trying to regain some of my bluster. “Maybe that’s true, but you’re the one who brings us back when we try to escape. You’re just as bad as the Templars—worse, even!”

“Perhaps,” she nodded. “Perhaps not. If you decide to run, you may find out exactly what it is I do. But that is neither here nor there. I have something for you.”

She held out a small bag. I eyed it suspiciously.

“Seeds,” she explained. “I leave again in a few hours, and I will not have time to start a new batch of the King’s Blossom. When they are full grown, have the herbalists show you how to harvest them properly. I am sure the apprentice in question will appreciate your efforts. I’ve asked the Senior Enchanter to adjust the duty roster to allow you assist in other ways in the garden, but this plant will be your responsibility alone.”

She handed me the bag and then…left.

I worked in the garden for two months, tending the seeds and the other plants. In the beginning, I hated her for forcing me to engage in such menial labor, but by the end, I enjoyed spending time in the sun, learning about the plants from the herbalists, and knowing that the things I grew would help someone else.

But eventually, my time in the garden ended. I harvested my King’s Blossom and moved on. The change I sought, the power to free the mages and live my own life, did not exist in herbalism and botany. For years, we had waited for the seeds of our efforts to sprout and grow, and our efforts had yielded no harvest. A mage who wanted to change the world would have to pull power from Nature, control it, bend and shape it to his will, and he would have to do it _now_. And so I set out to learn what I thought I needed to know.

Years later, I ran. Two weeks earlier, a mage had been made Tranquil for possession of a forbidden text. The Templars had not allowed even the Senior Enchanter to inspect the book to confirm its contents before the Rite was administered. Rumor was that the new Knight-Commander, a recent transfer from Val Royeaux, was too stupid to have realized it was a text on astronomy.

The accused was one of our small band of malcontents, and fearing for our lives, or even worse, some of us made a plan to run.

I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times, but I still can’t come up with any hint that James intended to use blood magic. We were all in agreement—we’d do it on our own, fight for our freedom without giving up who we were. What good was freedom for mages if we made pacts with demons or became maleficarum? We would show that we deserved to rule ourselves, using the Maker’s gifts without abusing His laws.

The Templars found us, very quickly. And then I saw those things James called up out of the ground. Dead things and things that had never been alive.

I had no idea it would go so wrong, so fast. I was so terrified. I’d only seen a few demons in my life, all of them during my Harrowing, and I was trained to easily resist their temptations. Here, in the real world, they…offended the senses in a way I still cannot describe, and I have killed more of the things than I can even estimate.

I froze for a moment, and then the Templars were on us—I felt my stomach drop as one of the Knights severed my connection from the Fade with an anti-magic field. Then a horrible creature, made entirely of molten rock, crawled out of a crack in the earth, its heat so intense that I could feel the skin on the side of my face blister. I backpedaled as fast as I could, not even drawing my staff, not sure who I was running away from.

 The creature started to lumber towards me when a ball of ice struck its chest. The ice spread, and the rock around it began to crackle. To my relief, the creature’s pace slowed to a very slow ooze.

I glanced over, and my eyes met Enchanter Trevelyan’s--she must have been standing just outside of the range of the Templar’s nullification field. She shot another ball of ice at the monster, then looked back at me, pointing her staff and yelling something incomprehensible through the noise of battle.

The demon was advancing on me faster than my addled mind had estimated it would, I stumbled and fell flat on my back, and she took off at a run. She lost her magic, just like me—I saw the light at the end of her staff wink out—but she kept running, hauling her staff back like a club and smacking it against the back of the demon’s head with a vicious crack. There was a loud snap, and the rage demon, cracked and blackened from the contact with the ice, shattered into rocky chunks.

That’s when I finally scrambled up, turned, and ran. I heard running footfalls behind me, and just a heartbeat later, she smacked _me_ in the back of the head with her staff, too. Everything went dark.

I awoke to the feeling of rough hands shoving up the sleeves of my robe, almost up into my armpits.

“As I stated, Knight-Captain,” said a woman’s cool voice, “there is no physical evidence of any sort that this mage has ever performed blood magic.”

“Soft,” sneered another voice, this one a man’s.

Small hands touched the skin of my wrist. “For a man in his mid-twenties, he actually seems to have a surprising lack of scar tissue. He must be quite meticulous. Rudimentary training in fire often results in—“

A snort, and a different man speaks. “Not everyone is a nasty mess like you, Trevelyan. Some mages actually do what they’re told, don’t go around breaking rules or looking for trouble, don’t end up covered in scars.”

I open my eyes. Enchanter Trevelyan and a Templar with a large black moustache are kneeling on opposite sides of me, while another Knight, cleanshaven with a youthful face, stands at my feet.

Trevelyan looks up at the younger Templar. “Then by your own line of reasoning, Carter, up until now, this is a mage who has _not_ gone around breaking rules or getting into trouble. As a matter of fact, he seems a bit of a cautious sort.”

Carter glared at her and crossed his arms. “Then what’s he doing out here, then? There’s those others, too, the ones we need to find after these ones. Why’d they run, too?”

“It is truly hard to guess, Carter,” she murmured. “It is almost as if something has changed at Ostwick, something that makes formerly obedient mages afraid for their lives.”

“Well,” Carter frowned, “the new Knight-Commander does say that we’ve been terribly lax. But—”

“Get out of here, Carter,” snapped the other Knight. “He’s waking up, and you’re an idiot.”

“And you,” he muttered at Trevelyan as Carter shuffled away, “quit messing with that man.”

“Knight-Captain Liam, I would be remiss if I did not note that I have obtained a fair portion of this ‘nasty mess’ of scars while saving that man’s life.” No emotion in her voice, just a serene observation. I wondered how she did it. I don’t know what I’d imagined, but they didn’t treat her any better than they did us. Maybe worse.

The Knight-Captain narrowed his eyes at her. “Whatever’s gotten in to you, stop it now,” he growled. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” she replied. No hint of irony or sarcasm. Or fear. There’s a reason people say the Inquisitor has ice water in her veins.

The Knight-Captain glared down at me. “You there,” he barked. “You gonna lay there all night? What’s your name, mage? Why’d you run?”

“I—I’m,” And to my shame, I started to weep. It seems strange now to imagine a time when I had not seen battle, but that was my first taste of it. Not an auspicious beginning.

“His name’s Rion, Knight-Captain. I met him five or six years ago. I have no concerns about his integrity. Not rebellious. A studious man, considered by some to be quite charismatic. He is well-liked at the Circle,” she informed him.

“Looks like he has some nasty friends, Trevelyan. New Knight-Commander’s going to kick my ass if I don’t at least make him Tranquil. Trying to set an example and all that.”

“This man was running away, Knight-Captain. He did not act aggressively to any of us. It was obvious to all of us that he was unaware of any plan to summon demons. Had that been the case, he would have taken steps to protect himself, and the rage demon would not have attempted to attack him.” She paused. “He’s one of mine, Liam. Let me take him back. I’ll speak to the Knight-Commander—“

“No,” he snapped. “You stay away from that man. We have a good team here, and I don’t want you…putting stupid ideas in his head.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” came the reply.

They were both silent for a long minute. Her face stayed as expressionless as her voice.

Knight-Captain Liam looked down at me, then reached down and poked me in my shoulder. “You a blood mage, boy? I’m not putting my life on the line for a maleficar.”

“N-no, Knight-Captain,” I managed to choke out.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “He’s your responsibility until we get him back to Ostwick, Enchanter. Find out why he ran and tell him not to do it again or…whatever it is you do.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” she nodded, then pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand to me. “Come on, Rion. I think it’s going to rain.”

“He can share your tent.” I think the man might have smiled under his moustache. It wasn’t a nice smile, if that’s what it was. “And look on the bright side: iIf he’s a blood mage, at least he’ll kill you first. Try to scream when he starts on you so we can get dressed first.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” came the reply. The man rolled his eyes and stalked off.

I reached my hand up, she gripped my wrist, and pulled me to my feet.

I followed her away from the battlefield, and shivered under a blanket while she built a fire and set up a small tent. I noticed that the Templars did not ask her to share their fire, and their tents were erected a fair distance away from hers.

When the tent was finally up, she gestured towards it. “Go inside. They’ll be less jumpy if they can’t see you.”

I staggered in and collapsed on the single bedroll, shaking uncontrollably. She draped another blanket over me, then left and came back with a mug full of water. Sitting by my feet, she stirred her finger in the mug until it began to steam.

When she handed me the tea, I was shivering too hard to drink it, so I held it close to my chest until the shaking stopped.

“Why’d you lie?” I whispered.

She glanced at me, her eyes dark in the dim tent. “Which lie might you be referring to?” she murmured. “Drink your tea. It will calm your nerves.”

 I took a sip of the tea. “You told him—you said I wasn’t rebellious. That I have integrity. You of all people know that’s not true.”

“Oh—that lie,” she shrugged. “I did not want a Templar to kill you or make you Tranquil. I was operating under the assumption that you felt the same way. It didn’t seem relevant to mention that you’d pulled some pranks when you were a teenager.”

She paused, then lowered her voice and spoke quickly. “On our way back to the Circle, speak only when you’re spoken to. Be submissive, scared, and regretful. Stay that way for at least six months.”

“Why are you helping me?” I whispered. “You hunt mages.”

“ _I don’t hunt mages_ ,” she hissed. “That idea is inaccurate and ill-informed. The Templars have your phylactery—they don’t need me.”

“So why are you out here?”

She let out a long sigh. “I bring mages back alive. Yes, I do kill maleficarum and demons, but I also talk mages down, keep them from using blood magic or becoming possessed. I talk to the Templars, too. Keep them from hurting mages like you. I try to save who I can. That’s all.”

She paused, thinking. I waited.

“An ill wind is blowing,” she whispered. “You must have heard about Kirkwall. There’s been talk of Annulments at other Circles, and this new Knight-Commander…”

She tapped a finger against her cheek. “The old Knight-Commander did not think mages were a disease to be eradicated. The actions of the new Knight-Commander make me question whether or not he agrees with this sentiment.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your phylactery is here, now. Do not attempt to take it from the hunters—you would not survive. Just know this: it will be at Ostwick until they have enough protection to move it away safely. Pay attention to personnel transfers of three Knights or more. That is all the information I can provide to you.”

She rose to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “Now drink your tea and go to sleep. I have to go stand guard.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I’ve never been sure if she heard me or not.

I lay back on the bed and rolled on my side. I fell asleep wondering why she had a sword in her tent.

And then, finally, the Circles all fell apart. We’d planned the final move for weeks. We’d have to take out the Templar hunters first—they were the most dangerous—and everyone knew that meant Enchanter Trevelyan, too. Everyone knew she was a collaborator, and a traitor, and she couldn’t be trusted to fight on behalf of the mages.

I’ve gone over that moment in my head a thousand times, too. I think that might have been the first sign that things were going to go wrong. Already planning so much death.

Maker, I still don’t know why I volunteered to do it, or what I really planned to do. Warn her? Kill her? Let her go? Give her a chance to join us?

It doesn’t really matter, I suppose, because when I got to her room, she was gone. So were the Templar hunters, we discovered, and nearly a score of other mages. Maybe one of the other co-conspirators, one with more integrity than I, had warned her in advance.

But she was gone, and I didn’t see her again for a long time. I somehow managed to get out of the Rebellion before Redcliffe—I saw how things were going and I couldn’t take it anymore. So much death all around. Our only hope was the Divine, so I made my way to Haven to wait for the results of the Conclave. And afterwards…well, the Inquisition seemed to offer another way. They took mages _and_ Templars and we might have hated each other at first, but at least we had a cause.

I never expected to find Enchanter Trevelan there, much less transformed into the Herald of Andraste. I avoided her, but it was easy because we both spent most of our time in the field in those days.

And then one day, she sent a report from Redcliffe. She’d gone after the rebels. There weren’t many mages at Skyhold then. But the letter came, and somehow the word spread amongst all of us: she was bringing the mages—all of them—back alive. She’d saved us, given us the freedom we’d fought for.

Of course, now we just have to keep it. After everything, now she’s assigned me to start working with Templars, trying to build a College of Enchanters that will actually last. I think the Maker plays jokes on us all, making a hunted mage a mage hunter. But it’s the right thing to do now.

Some of us don’t like it, but now I know that freedom doesn’t mean everyone gets to do whatever they want, no consequences. Freedom means you live your life the way you want, as long as you don’t hurt other people.

So after Gabrielle asked me that question, and we arrived back at Skyhold, I told Ser Rylen I’d be the one to deliver our report. He blinked at the request, but then handed me the scroll.

“Fine. She’s probably in the garden.” He paused. “You know, you never told me if you two knew each other at Ostwick, before.”

“She was older than me…but yes,” I said. “We knew each other.”

“Oh,” Rylen grinned. “She gave you tea, didn’t she?”

“No,” I said. "Well...once. But I didn't finish it."

“Ooh,” he said. “Sounds bad, then. Go deliver that report. I’m not in the mood to hear sad mage stories. They’re always the worst.”

“Yes,” I agreed, and I went out to the garden.

Everyone knows it’s her favorite spot in Skyhold, which is why I never go there. So stupid that I put my life on the line a thousand times for the Inquisition, but I’m still too weak to say hello to the Inquisitor without feeling like I am going to vomit.

But I suppose that’s because I knew her at Ostwick, before.

She was kneeling next to a bed of herbs of some sort, and she stood when I approached. She removed her gloves and slapped them against her thigh to remove some loose dirt.

“Rion,” she smiled. “What can I do for you?”

 I swallowed. “I have a report here from Ser Rylen about our latest mission.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” she said, then unrolled the scroll and skimmed the contents.

“Excellent work,” she murmured after a moment. “I’ll pass this on to the Commander.”

She rolled the parchment back up and tapped it against her hand, thinking.

I looked down at the bed she’d been working in, and was surprised to see a familiar plant.

“King’s Blossom,” I said aloud.

I was rewarded with a large grin. “You remember!” she exclaimed.

“I do. The time I spent working in the garden was…pleasant.”

“I’m glad. I find it to be very peaceful. You are welcome to join me here anytime, of course,” she offered.

“I’d like that,” I smiled back, “but I think I forgot everything I learned before.”

“That’s all right. We can start with this plant,” she said, gesturing down at the bed.

“The King’s Blossom?”

“You probably have some knowledge about how it grows. It’s a member of the mint family, of course. Most people identify it by its common name, though: catnip.”

“It’s… _catnip_?”

“Mmm,” she replied, blithely ignoring my confusion. “Useful in teas to aid digestion and relaxation. It also has a mild narcotic effect on felines. The cooks like to give it to the cats from time to time.”

“But…why’d you lie?”

“You’ve asked me that before, you know.” She looked over at me, her eyes soft. “You were a very angry young man, Rion. I was worried about you. You’d passed your Harrowing, but that kind of anger is a terrible burden to bear. Working in the garden encourages a peaceful mindset, teaches long-term planning and patience.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It is interesting. Everyone is consistently surprised when they found out I’ve lied. I find it very difficult to believe that other mages were able to accomplish anything at all in the Circle without becoming outrageous liars, too. So yes, I lied. Did spending time in the garden help you, even temporarily?” she inquired.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

“Excellent.” She shrugged. “In my estimation, a fallacious herb and a dying classmate were a sufficient price to pay so a young mage might have just a little bit of peace in his life.”

I couldn’t help but snort in amusement. This momentous conversation had not gone at all the way I’d hoped or imagined, and yet…I no longer felt ashamed or awkward or angry or…anything. Of course she had struggled along with the rest of us in the Circles. The circumstances had been desperate, and we’d all done what we thought we needed to do.

I attempted to frown at her, but I think it turned into a smile. “She wasn’t dying, she was just sick.”

“Really?” The Inquisitor frowned, and shook her head. “That’s a shame. It was woefully unambitious on my part. If that is the case, I do apologize. You deserved a much more outrageous lie.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a better one next time, Inquisitor.” I nodded at the scroll. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Of course. You know, Rion, my offer still stands, but you can also visit the garden by yourself, whenever you like.”

“I’ll do that,” I nodded. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

After she left, I sat in the sun for a while, and thought about…nothing at all. It was very peaceful.


End file.
